Avishraa Reloaded

The Gentle Eye had closed, and though the Burning Eye had not yet put in its appearance, the east-facing windows showed a horizon turned bright and crimson, and twilight was being increasingly banished from the landscape.

But in the cleft into which the ancient outpost opened, the sun would not touch the shadows for some time yet - indeed, it rarely did, except during the very middle of the turn. Surrounded by high rock and open only to the north, it was well-protected from the heat of the day. Even before Shyriath's arrival, it had been a little oasis; he had since used his powers to carve water-bearing channels into the cleft's floor, irrigating it from the aquifer.

Few actual crops would grow here; there was not enough soil. But some scraggly berry bushes held on, and, perhaps more importantly, lush grass, for it was this that allowed Shyriath to gather his herd here without letting its members stray.

As he emerged from the door with Evrith trailing him, An-uxhwi regarded the animals as he had several times before while helping during chores, and wondered what they were. They reminded him enough of axtin, the beasts that his family had herded when he was a child, to be reassuring; there was a vaguely similar look to them, and similar habits. But these were shaggier, and more sure-footed; he had seen them standing partway up near-vertical walls, without evident effort.

When not out gathering other food, Shyriath stationed himself at the open end of the cleft, where he could peer over a lip of stone at that end to watch the landscape, while telepathically monitoring the beasts behind him, and - occasionally - nudging them away from trouble. He was there now, frowning at the approaching dawn. There was what appeared to be a caravan of some kind in the distance; but it was traveling mostly sideways, and would not approach the outpost without making a sudden change in direction.

As they approached, he said, without turning around, “Good morning.” One of the axtin-like beasts, standing nearby and idly chewing, greeted them as well, with a low, belch-like sound.

An-uxhwi reacted to 'good morning' with a polite nod without giving much conscious thought to that it wouldn't be seen. Shyriath's concern about the caravan was clear enough that it drew An-uxhwi's attention. And although it was none of his business and he was fully aware of this, at that moment in time in felt comfortable enough to ask, regardless:

“…how long have you been forced to live like this?”

It was perhaps giving undue weight to Shyriath's paranoia, but at the very least, An-uxhwi knew by now that Shyriath at least was genuinely convinced his caution was fully necessary. And in the end, it made little difference whether Shyriath was forced to live like this due to outside circumstances, or simply because his own mind demanded it.

In any case, it was perhaps the most empathetic thing An-uxhwi had ever exchanged with the mentalist, dampened to some degree by that it was largely a friendly curiosity rather than pity - but it marked the first time he was polling for more data on Shyriath's situation.

Shyriath seemed to take a moment to fully absorb the question, eventually blinking and turning to face them.

“It's…” He hesitated. How long had it been now? “It's been quite some time,” he said, sounding uncertain. “Quite some time. …A cycle? Certainly most of one.” He felt deeply uncomfortable with the fact that he didn't know for sure anymore; at some point, he realized, he'd stopped thinking about it.

He glanced back over his shoulder at the caravan, then turned to An-uxhwi again; he had some idea of what might have prompted the question. He twisted his head in a vague shrug. “There are very few safe places for any Chosen… or, as you might say, witch,” he added, “and I very deliberately left the largest and closest, and there's no going back.

Even if I didn't fear that they might find me, a witch without that kind of refuge has to be careful.”

Shyriath glanced at the slightly mournful expression that had taken root on Evrith's face, and, nodding in her direction, added, “You've already seen what happens. Other takmar mostly don't like witches. One can either live around their margins and keep moving, or hide and take care not to be found. Since I have enemies among witches as well, I chose the latter.”

The observations made An-uxhwi think back to the snapshot of another time he had seen when Evrith had been psychologically crippled by Shyriath - that of the war between Soakers and their witch sub-population. Though the scene was still vivid to him, he couldn't remember seeing witches fight witches.

That such a thing was possible was clear - Shyriath's assault of Evrith made that clear. Nonetheless, something about the narrative seemed strange to An-uxhwi, as though something important were missing from it. Of course, Shyriath had never divulged what the point of contention between him and his enemies was, but that wasn't what An-uxhwi's doubts gnawed upon.

He couldn't quite identify it. Perhaps it was nothing but a misplaced instinct.

…regardless. It was none of his business. He'd pried enough.

“We don't mean to impose,” An-uxhwi remarked, changing the topic. “But there are some things that Evrith has seen in our possible futures that we would like to discuss with you, if you have time.”

Shyriath glanced out at the caravan, which continued to creep its way across the landscape to a destination that apparently did not include the outpost, and then, nodding, clambered down from his perch.

“I suppose,” he said, looking at Evrith, “that this has to do with what you said about the end of the world?”

She nodded gravely. Shyriath didn't look surprised. “I had hoped,” he said, “that I would become more ready to talk about it; but I haven't felt any less reluctant to address the topic, so further delay won't serve any purpose, I suppose. Where did you want to have this discussion?”

“Indoors,” Evrith replied, “if we could.” She touched the top of her head, which was now peeling as her molting steadily progressed. “I'd like to keep my new scales a while longer before they get dried out.”

Shyriath led them back inside, leaving his herd to their own affairs. While there had been, in the outpost's previous life, a large room where its occupants had eaten, Shyriath had never used it; the kitchen was large enough on its own to serve as a dining room, even when Evrith and An-uxhwi had turned up, and he had shaped a round stone table there. As Evrith and An-uxhwi sat down around it, Shyriath started a fire in the firepit at the far end, over which an ancient cauldron hung; he filled the latter with water to boil for a later meal. Then he, too, sat down, and murmured, “So… how do we approach this whole topic, anyway?”

An-uxhwi's attention automatically drifted to Evrith. It was, after all, her who wanted the conversation. It was her who knew most about the topic they were going to discuss. An-uxhwi was only along for the ride - and a subpar (so far at least) bodyguard, though at least he largely forgave himself his weakness given Evrith's encouragements about it.

Evrith herself wasn't sure where to start, exactly. But, in the absence of other ideas, possibly she should start at the beginning.

“There will be,” she said, “a person. A witch. I can't see them clearly, except that they appear in white - I don't know if that's their natural color or their garment. They will travel to the Citadel, as many witches have. And once there…” Evrith hesitated. “…once there, something will happen because of them. The other witches there will unite in a way that hasn't happened in many ages, and the figure in white will lead them against the rest of takmakind.

“And the goal, I think, is to exterminate them - or to kill as many of them as they can. Many futures branch out from there, not all of them mutually exclusive. I see plagues unleashed, fires set raging through the jungles, the dead caused to rise and stalk the living. All this would be bad enough. But the takmar are many, and witches few, and there are many futures in which all this will not be enough to defeat them.

“And the figure in white will not allow the other takmar to win. If left with no other option, they will destroy the world to end them. And - I don't know how - they will find a way to call down the heavens on the world. Rocks, miles wide, smashing into the land and shattering all that lies beneath and around.”

White. The colour of bleached bones. The colour of death. An-uxhwi quietly licked at his teeth, sorting his thoughts on the described future. He remembered how Shyriath had torn rocks from the ground in their curt physical battle

“Shyriath can command rocks to do his bidding,” An-uxhwi observed. “Could a sufficiently powerful witch with similar powers uproot whole mountains?”

It was a minor point of interest, of course. The greater, far more interesting question to pursue was: What can we do to prevent this future? An-uxhwi intended to ask it, but it was best to ask only one question at a time. Besides, the conversation would naturally flow that way. That was, after all, why there were talking about this subject in the first place.

“No,” replied Shyriath, “not one. Even if the power was there, trying to use it that way would kill them. Many witches with that power, all working together - maybe, but a very big maybe. Even then, it would exhaust them quickly to move it more than a fraction of an inch. They'd have more luck tearing it into boulders and rocks and throwing those.”

“They wouldn't be using mountains,” Evrith interjected. “There are rocks in the sky; the figure in white would use those.”

Shyriath looked dubious. “In the sky? How would it stay up?”

“Things far enough away from the ground don't fall. They have to be pushed close enough so that they do.”

Shyriath looked like he was about to ask what Evrith knew about things like that, but apparently thought better of it.

Things far enough away from the ground don't fall. For a moment, it seemed like such a strange assertion - then An-uxhwi realised it was the most natural thing in the world. Daxelh's Eyes did not fall, after all. Clouds did not fall, except in fragments as rain, scarce as that was in arid climes.

No, the claim seemed reasonable. An-uxhwi nodded thoughtfully. Then, calmly, contemplatively: “What might we do to prevent such a future?”

Evrith's forepaws twisted together nervously. “There is some difficulty there,” she said. The figure in white is not yet born. It will not be another ten cycles or so before they are in a position to-“

“Ten cycles?” Shyriath exclaimed. “Will we need to raise grandchildren to do the work for us?”

Evrith glared at him. “Assuming that were very likely, they wouldn't know what to do in any case. But you're hiding from everyone you might be expected to have children with, and I expect to be dead before I can.” She settled down. “No; the thing that's done will need to be done sooner, while I'm still here to see how it will go.

“What I can do is leave a message for the figure in white, if I can find a place where they will be in the future. Something they can come across while there's still time to change their approach. It's one thing to be driven to destroy the world in desperation; it's another to be faced with that possibility well ahead of time. I have a rough idea of where they will be before she reaches the Citadel. All I need to do is narrow it down.”

Shyriath stared in astonishment. “Leave a message? That's all? …how can you know that'll work?”

Evrith avoided his gaze. “I don't. But it's the best I've got.”

“Could we perhaps more easily 'leave a message' for a witch that can see us in their past, for them to contact the figure in white in their own time?” An-uxhwi mused.

“Another oracle, you mean?” Shyriath asked, obviously still annoyed by what seemed to be the sheer unlikelihood of the whole endeavor. “Chosen with Evrith's powers are rare, extremely rare. One may not exist at all at the right time - or, if one does, possibly not in the right place. Unless they went looking for where we were.”

He glanced questioningly at Evrith, who shrugged helplessly. “I wouldn't know how to look for another oracle, really. I already know about where the figure in white is going to be; I don't see anyone else likely to deflect them from their course.

“But I think a message addressed personally to the figure in white will have more of an impact, in any case, than one delivered by someone else. It's easy to ignore a warning from a stranger; it's harder to ignore one that's clearly been carved into rock a lifetime before your arrival.”

An-uxhwi considered the proposal in silence for a moment. To him, the opposite seemed to be true - a message carved into the rock couldn't enter into a discussion with the intended recipient, better countering any initial objections they might have; if, indeed, they had any.

That said, it was certainly better than no message at all. If Evrith couldn't identify others with her ability, or otherwise reliably reach out to them through time, there was no alternative, other than a generation-spanning conspiracy (however small), as Shyriath had alluded to earlier, which was wholly impractical.

Out loud, he pondered: “Do you have a plan how to make its intended recipient unmistakable? And how to prevent tampering with the message by others who are, in fact, not the intended recipient?” A pause; he blinked, remembering that he had yet to ask the most important question of all: “…can you see a future where the message has its intended effect?”

If the answer was 'no', that needn't be a problem, of course - as he well knew by now, Evrith could see many things, but not all. But if she had seen a future where the plan worked, it was certainly a great inspiration to pursue it.

Evrith shrugged, a little helplessly. “I need to be closer to where the figure will be before I can say anything for sure,” she said. “Nearer to, I can find out things that would help. A name, to which a message could be addressed; a place where no one else is likely to find it; how likely it is that they will respond.

“But here and now, all of that's out of reach. I only know that it's an approach that could work, if it's done correctly.”

She felt, now that she was actually explaining this to others, deeply uncomfortable with how thin it sounded, and Shyriath's expression did nothing to soothe. Even she had wondered if it was worth acting on.

But it was a way, at least, to make herself useful.

An-uxhwi frowned - it was the least certain Evrith had thus far appeared even in regard to her meta-plans. He wasn't willing to abandon the plan if it was Evrith's first choice, but if there were that many uncertainties still to solve, perhaps it was best if they brainstormed for alternatives.

“Then we should pursue it, assuming we can find no better plan, and perhaps even if we do and it can be combined,” he said out loud. “What else can we do? Can we make the rocks in the sky inaccessible to them in some way?

“Can we warn the figure's future allies that the conflict will result in their deaths regardless how much they fight, conditional on the circumstances that decides the conflict in favour of their enemies?

“Can we do anything to inspire a social change in this… Citadel… that would prevent the conflict from arising in the first place, or otherwise considerably dampen it, so that the figure never reaches this level of desperation?”

Evrith hesitated, and then looked to Shyriath. “I think maybe you would be better placed to explain about the Citadel.”

Shyriath nodded, and looked at An-uxhwi. “You have to understand that the Citadel is a haven for witches. Everyone who lives there has either arrived there fleeing the rest of takmakind, or is descended from someone who did, and some very strong feelings have built up there.

“They don't like non-witches. And while they jealously keep the location of the Citadel a secret, there are a lot of them that resent having to hide from the world. The figure in white would have a ready audience there as it is; changing that would be no small feat.”

Evrith added, “I could go there and try to change their minds. Many would listen to me as an oracle. But oracles can lie, and many would refuse to be persuaded. They would even prefer to believe that I had been sent as a spy. And there would be bloodshed - war. Possibly I would prevent the end of the world, but I would cause the end of the Citadel.

“And I do mean I,” she added, looking at An-uxhwi. “If I went, I would have to go alone. That is not a place you can go.”

An-uxhwi seemed to consider the partial objection in humbled silence. He rolled the mental image of Evrith's persuasion of fellow witches around in his mind, lucid of how her first interaction with the last of her fellow witches had gone - of how Shyriath had nearly had the opportunity to destroy her outright. And yet…

“Though perhaps the end of the world is worth the end of the Citadel,” he proposed, quietly - not making an assertion as much as a suggestion that seemed prudent to him, aware that he knew to little of the Citadel to truly judge its value. “And it may be worth trying this plan after we have exhausted all others, to bolster our chances additionally.”

He glanced at Evrith with compassion. “I might not be able to follow you on such a quest, but know I would go as far as I could to aid you, if you were to go. You have my word.”

Shyriath had gotten to his feet at the beginning of An-uxhwi's statement. “Do you even understand what-”

“No,” Evrith interrupted. “He doesn't. But that that doesn't matter.” She seemed very much engaged in staring at the wall, but - as the other two might have guessed - she was sorting again through various futures.

She'd promised herself, at the beginning, that she would not go to the Citadel. She'd already known what might happen if she did. A cure, and the possibility of a long life, more likely awaited her there than anywhere else, and a possible end to the danger to the world - but what of the cost?

But here, now, she felt a need to reconsider the decision. How did the end of the world compare to the end of the Citadel? If she could save millions of lives at the cost of mere thousands, might that not be the correct choice?

One thing was for certain: to make that choice made the prospect of a cure utterly moot. Having to live long enough to make it, and to watch the consequences unfold - possibly even ensure that they unfolded - would be penance enough without having to dwell on it for another twenty or thirty cycles afterward.

Shyriath looked astonished. “You would seriously consider that?”

“Yes,” Evrith replied, in a weary voice. “If I have to. Anuwi has a point. The world is more important than the Citadel.”

“But they're our-” the mentalist stopped, surprised at himself. Even a few pauses earlier, he would have thought it ridiculous that he might be tempted to defend the Citadel. He had little reason to love them, after all; he knew what they were capable of in extremity.

Evrith, surely, could not read his mind, but perhaps she had seen the future in which he completed the statement. Regardless, she replied, “They're not your people, any more than any other takmar are - you found that out yourself. And they're not mine, not just because they're witches too.”

She stared blankly into the future, then turned away from it. “I can try it,” she added, “if I have to. But I want to try to leave the message before doing that.”

An-uxhwi nodded in assent, although he seemed to share at least some of the witches' unease - having seen how the takmar had treated at least on witch he was familiar with, he was not interested in discarding a witch sanctuary out of indifference.

While Evrith and Shyriath both had their reservations regarding this Citadel, there was clearly some value in it, lest they would have been less reluctant to speak of the possibility, after all - that much had been clear even before Shyriath had begun to protest.

“What other options do we have?” An-uxhwi asked, his tone suggesting that he was filing away both the message and Citadel ideas as firm plans that needed no immediate further discussion. “Since this person has yet to as much as hatch, might we yet influence her very creation somehow?”

“It's a possibility,” Evrith replied, “but it would require the same kind of tracking that leaving the message would ultimately require, and then some. I'd have to find a place where the figure in white will be, and then work backward from there to where she was. It could take a long time - I don't know if I have that much time.” She stared at the table, then added, “But if we found out where she will be born, and to whom - yes, we might do something. I dread that it might involve killing her, or possibly even her mother.”

Shyriath was repulsed by the idea, even if he understood the logic behind it. If destroying the Citadel might prove necessary to save the world, how could one rule out the price of a single life? But a civilization was an impersonal thing. Killing one, however deliberately, was a matter of setting forces in motion. Killing a child, for something her daughter might one day do…

Evrith looked no less troubled. To Shyriath's senses, in fact, it was hard to escape the impression that she was becoming more and more depressed by the tone of the conversation.

It was an important topic, of course, and An-uxhwi was loathe to throw any less than all of his brain-power at trying to find solutions for it, but even to him and his expectation of antenna expressions, Evrith began looking increasingly upset.

Was it possible that in simply discussing this potential future, they were making it more likely? In any case, until he understood what upset the Oracle, it was perhaps best to quieten down.

“I would think,” he said, softly, to take the edge off the last line of thought. “That no murder should be necessary, especially as none of us wish it to - if we could perhaps instead make her mother take on different lovers entirely, such as by making a different location more appealing to her early in her life.

“Regardless, perhaps it is time to take a break, grant all of us the ability to think on our options so far? It is, after all, a tall order, to save the world from destruction, and we are but three people.

“Indeed, let us also not forget the present, where we have all had the good fortune of escaping those fates others wanted for us; where we now have each other and a common understanding.” Maybe 'common understanding' was a bit of a tenuous statement - but even Shyriath understood the looming threat, so it was certainly not false.

An-uxhwi looked pensive as he said this, himself reflecting on his unlikely adventure so far. His heart ached to be back with his people - but he still owed Evrith his support and moreso, she deserved it. And she too was far from home, whatever 'home' meant to someone likely ostracised by her birth community.

He glanced across at her, a hesitant encouragement in his expression, a respectfully silent offer to lend his ears and shoulders to her if she wanted either.

Shyriath replied, a bit loudly, “A tall-” But he stopped himself from proceeding further. That their chances of ultimately combating the end of the world seemed, in fact, utterly damn ludicrous was not An-uxhwi's fault, nor was it likely to be Evrith's. “…yes, perhaps you have a point.”

Evrith, by this point, was looking in the general direction of the table, but without any kind of focus. Apparently not registering An-uxhwi's glance, she nodded vaguely, stood up, and lurched in the direction of the barracks where she and An-uxhwi had been sleeping.

The level of hollowness Evrith seemed to be exhibiting rather unnerved An-uxhwi - it seemed sudden, all things considered, and reminded him all too much of the stupor she had been in during the first hours of their captivity. He narrowly resisted shooting Shyriath a sceptical glance - unless the mentalist had lost his mind completely, it made little sense for him to attack Evrith again.

Unless, perhaps, he wanted to bring about the planet's destruction. But nothing in his body language had suggested he viewed it as anything but a problem that needed solving, and An-uxhwi could recognise the brief accusatory thought as the fallacy it likely was. He turned his focus back onto Evrith.

An-uxhwi cautiously and lightly nuzzled at Evrith's shoulder and neck, then began to trudge after her, confused about her current state. The weight of their task was great, of course, but this behaviour didn't fit into any template response An-uxhwi would have expected.

Evrith did not precisely flinch at An-uxhwi's touch, but it did elicit a very brief pause. As she resumed moving, and turned into the barracks, she murmured, “I've worried you, I suppose.”

“You seem disheartened,” An-uxhwi observed, gently. “Is our discussion making the future worse?”

“No,” she replied gloomily, heaving herself into her bed. “Not better, but not worse. Though that's only a relative comfort; it is quite bad enough on its own.” She laid her head down. “Shyriath isn't wrong to be a bit incredulous, you know. We have a chance of stopping what's coming, but not a good one.”

“No one would fault us for trying our best,” An-uxhwi reasoned, his tone encouraging. “And our best we will do - so I do not think we should fault us for it, either. And should we be able to share our knowledge with the right people in our future, they might yet be able to enact their own plans against this threat.”

…and there he was, scheming again. He caught himself and shook his muzzle. “I apologise; I did not mean to dwell on it. Let us rest for a while and find new energy to engage with this matter.” He smiled, albeit with some uncertainty. “In any case, I must thank you for confiding in me - in us, rather. I am here to help you, whatever that may bring. Now you are not alone.”

Evrith did not seem much heartened by An-uxhwi's words. She had to remind herself that, despite having apparently shared some of her vision, he didn't know what it was like - to see past and future staring one in the face. To be unable to have the solace of just… ignoring them, if only for a while. To be acutely aware, always, of consequences.

“I doubt I would have any chance at all without that help,” she said. “But it all drains at me - everything. I don't know that there'll be much of a respite from it, short of death. I don't even know that I deser-”

She stopped, and clamped her mouth shut, avoiding An-uxhwi's gaze.

His expression remained gentle as he tilted his head slightly. “Deserve?” he finished, tentatively. “The help?” His antennae twitched a little in curiosity, though they did little to dampen his overall air of support. “I suspect now is not the time to delve into why you might possibly think so, but know that I've rarely met someone more deserving of help.

“You are heroic, Evrith; you may discount your actions because they seem easier to you, as you can see where to go in the future, but you have given freedom to many of my people, you have given freedom to me, and now you are making a fervent effort to rescue a world containing many people who have done you much harm.

“I would not have thought to do these things; yet you chose to help me all the same. You have treated me with kindness, even when you were at your weakest and your state did not make it easy. If I deserve your help, you certainly deserve mine. You have done much more to earn it.”

The praise was… 'unwelcome' might not have been the right word, but it only made Evrith more agitated. She squeezed her eyes shut. “How many of your people died after being freed? How many recaptured? What will happen to you? You don't know how much unfolds from every little thing you do - that each of us does. You can't.

“But I do - I know, eventually. And the knowledge, when I get it, makes me responsible, because it means that so many of the consequences stop being accidents. I cause them, knowingly. Freedom from the mine? Many of the freed died. Many of the guards had families. The city nearby? The sudden end to the flow of silver destroyed hundreds of livelihoods - many of them not even directly dependent on the mine. Me. I did that.

“And intentions and reasons can only excuse so much. The ones who suffer don't know why, and most would get no peace, cast no less blame, if they did. And they shouldn't be expected to!”

Evrith had begun speaking faster and louder, and tears started to form in her eyes. “You understand? Even if we save the world, what will I have to do to it in the process? What unwanted futures will I hand to people? What if I really do have to take that step that means that some mother had to lose the life of her daughter? I can't ignore it - the possibility is there! It's there! It doesn't go away just because I don't want to look!”

And there was a sudden crack in Evrith's empathic shielding, and for a very brief moment An-uxhwi felt, with terrible intensity, the cold heat and silent snarl of guilt, of self-loathing, of unmerciful self-punishment, all underlaid by quiet black despair.

The shield returned quickly, and the sensation winked out. But it was hard to escape the impression that, though the breach might have been momentary, the feelings were not; those had spent a long time in the making.

Evrith, entirely aware of her empathic exposure, made a shamed and anguished noise and jammed her face into her blankets.

An-uxhwi let her finish her rant, although his air didn't change much - at most, he seemed a little hesitant, as if he might expect her to physically lash out at him, briefly intensifying at the curt swell of empathic misery. Whatever revelation she was or wasn't imparting seemed to have little effect.

When he finally spoke again, he only cemented the impression: “Have you not listened to me at all? …I truly am left to wonder which part you are blind to - that you are doing the best you can, or that others refuse to bother even with that.” There was no venom in his tone, just a deep astonishment.

“I am sorry the imperfect fates are visible to you, as they haunt you and I would rather they did not, but I cannot change that. But if you look at these situations and ask yourself could you have done better, and indeed, you clearly are asking yourself some semblance of such question, and if you turn up with your grasp mostly empty, what, then, are you berating yourself for?

“That you are not omnipotent? Not omnipresent? Perhaps it is a greater pain to one born into magic, but I am used to my insignificance in light of the forces we are dealing with. You at least are doing your best with your limits, armed with the knowledge you have. I can only reiterate that most do not do even that.

“Remember what you told me? 'Could-have-beens aren't worth lingering on.' So why do you linger? I will fight for the future, but will you hold it against me if I do my best and fail? It will be unspeakably tragic, yes, no doubt, but would I be to blame? And if not I, why you? Only because you could see it? What nonsense is that?”

There was a long pause, though not quite a silence, because it was possible to make out the faint and blanket-muffled sound of someone trying not to sob. Finally, in a thick voice, Evrith managed, “You lost two of your parents when you were younger. If you had known how to save them - at the cost of your life - would you have? Even knowing their sorrow?”

The question stirred something in An-uxhwi, although perhaps not quite what had been intended. That said, it successfully distracted him from that she hadn't at all answered his question, at least for the time being.

Mild confusion and reluctance tugged at his posture. “…perhaps,” he said, softly. “Although I don't see how I could have; given the torrent was strong enough to tear my mother to her death, had I tried, presumably we would simply all have perished.”

There was no petulance or annoyance in his voice, not as though he were trying to assert himself against some alternate universe's fate, instead simply the confusion of one who had little emotional access to the point Evrith was making.

He surely cared about his family, both present and past, but the desert was known to be a harsh mistress - one grieved and one moved on, carrying the spirits and wishes of the dearest departed into the future.

He sighed softly, at wit's end how to console someone who seemed hell-bent on contradicting her own advice. Perhaps it would simply have to run its course. Quietly, he draped his arms and wings over Evrith, to the degree the geometry and her willingness to tolerate it allowed.

Not the level of commitment she'd been searching for; but then, Evrith didn't know whether any answer would have helped. Even if An-uxhwi had given a clear 'yes' or 'no', then… what? Would it have excused what she'd failed to do, or confirmed the failure?

What he would have done, really, didn't matter. She had failed, because there had been a time when she hadn't done her best. They were dead because of her.

Everyone else might die because of her.

The feel of arms and wings surprised her, short-circuiting her downward spiral. She lifted her head out the blankets enough to give him a brief, uncertain look. What was he-?

A brief look of anguished surprise crossed her face, and then she pressed her muzzle into his neck, silently weeping.

The fervour of her response surprised An-uxhwi a little - he had expected her, at best, to passively accept that she was being petted by a xtauh, at worst to push him away with more strength than necessary. Instead, he found his arms gently looping around her neck, shifting his body to let her rest her muzzle a little more comfortably.

His right forepaw traced down the back of her neck with a gentle touch, a bit uncertain in its pacing, in part out of the unexpected usefulness of his own gesture, in part because he was still perplexed about her state and unwillingness to listen to the very reason she herself espoused.

The 'hypocrisy' - assuming one wished to call it that - didn't matter, not directly, but the more her thoughts were opaque to him, the less he could do anything about her state, and he did not want her to be sad. In that, the current embrace was a mixed blessing, and he simply held her, hoping that this support was one that would give her a little peace.

Perhaps it was just the fact of being hugged. Evrith hadn't been hugged in… well, certainly her brother had never hugged her. Regardless, it made her feel better, and gradually pushed her sense of futility back down and out of sight.

In its place came a certain amount of embarrassment. She slowly pulled her face away from An-uxhwi, and muttered, “Sorry. I'm just, er… this happens to me, sometimes.”

An-uxhwi's gaze slipped down to meet her eyes with curiosity and a friendly encouragement. He seemed to think about the strange apology for a while, without hiding that he thought it somewhat strange in the process.

Then, softly, each word cautiously advancing: “Is it that different from a wound? I would think you need not apologise for bleeding from it. Perhaps, at some point, we may find the means to mend it. Much of our journey may be on foot - but perhaps some of it is also in our minds, and perhaps that will be just as difficult, for both of us, and just as important that we walk it together.”

He seemed firm with whatever emotion was driving him, but it did not seem to be any traditional form of love. It didn't quite seem to be blind reverence, either, with how much he was willing to argue with her.

Perhaps he really had decided that she was his quest - that he would support her, regardless how it manifested. He kept his arms around her neck, loosely, cautious smile friendly. Vexing. More like an unruly disciple than a lover, certainly, with emotions occasionally orthogonal to her own. But definitely close, and likely trivial to pull closer, if she ever dared.

No matter how Evrith had tried, she'd never quite grasped the full reasons behind An-uxhwi's devotion. Surely they went beyond simple gratitude, though she understood well enough that love, as she would think of it, was not involved either.

Regardless, it was humbling.

It was also (she felt unable to deny) something she almost certainly did not deserve, but it was becoming increasingly clear that she was going to receive it regardless, and probably would until one of them died - unless she dismissed him far more emphatically than she was willing to do.

“I… would like that,” she replied, slowly. And she meant it: it was very nearly the most comforting prospect she'd considered in the last three cycles.

And perhaps… once her own mission had ended, and if she was still alive… perhaps then she could consider the futures possible with him.